The War Of The Ring
by Xipil
Summary: After Loki fell from the Bi-frost, he found himself trapped in a world outside of Yggdrasil. In this new world, called Middle-earth, Loki must help nine companions destroy a ring that may be his only chance to get home. AU
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the LOTR or Marvel! (although wouldn't that be amazing...)**

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There was so much pain. It felt as if white hot knives were being drawn through his flesh; his very bones were on fire; his throat torn raw from screaming until he could only howl in silent agony.

He could hear voices, far-off and distant, as if they were at the other end of a very long tunnel. Loki tried to make out what they were saying, but he couldn't hear them over the voices screaming in his own mind.

"_Monster…disgrace…argr…stolen relic…not worthy… a shadow…"_

Monster. That's what he was, wasn't it. He was a monster.

And this was his punishment.

Hands touched his shoulders; he jerked away in response. _No, go away_, his mind cried. _Why can you not leave me be?_

The hands came back; he pushed them away, and another voice cut like a knife through the chaos surrounding his tormented mind. It spoke in a strange tongue, one he could not understand, yet it calmed him, soothing him. The voice was most certainly feminine, and it rolled over him like a cooling rain upon his burning flesh.

"_Avo 'osto. Gerich faer vara. Avo visto. Tolo sí, aphado nin."_

The pain that had been holding him in its iron-like grip began to lessen ever so slightly, and Loki forced his heavy eyes open. As if through a sheet of fog, Loki saw a young woman, with black tresses flowing out behind her. It was her voice that he was hearing, and he began to open his mouth, to try to say something to her, to ask her who she was and what was going on and why he was in so much _pain_, but the woman merely draped a finger on his lips and whispered, "_Shhhh. _Estelio nin."

Her voice was like a balm; the words, although incomprehensible, were keeping the dark thoughts at bay. Loki didn't know how, or why, but he relished in the silence, and found himself unable to keep his eyes open any longer. They fluttered shut, his body and mind at peace, and he drifted off into the waiting darkness.

oOoOoOo

"How is he?"

"As well as could be expected. Although…"

"Yes?"

"It is remarkable, his healing abilities. If he were a mere man, he surely would have succumbed to these wounds hours ago—yet he still lives."

"Has he awoken?"

"Only once, my lord, although it was only for a few minutes and I don't believe he knew we were there."

"Thank you, Dior."

"My lord."

The elf lord bowed his head as he took his leave of Elrond. Lord Elrond stood at the foot of the wounded man's bed, gazing upon the stranger that his daughter had found lying in the forest. The man's face was pale, with high cheekbones and a delicate jaw, with dark strands of hair that swept across his forehead. He looked young, no more than twenty in human years, although there were lines of care on his youthful face that could only come from the wisdom of many years. There was a gash along the right side of his face, and numerous other scrapes covered the rest of his body. But they were only scrapes—why, then, did Arwen tell him that the man had been screaming when she found him, as if his life itself were at stake?

Shaking his head slightly, Elrond sighed through his nose, the weight of his many years weighing down on his shoulders. Glancing at the polished floor, Elrond wondered if this man had anything to do with the hobbit that he also had in his care. It was too much of a coincidence for them both to arrive on the same day, in varying states of distress. If all his long years had taught him anything, it was to never dismiss something as mere chance. No—there was something, some connection between the two, and he was going to find out what it was.

The man stirred, and Elrond snapped his gaze onto him. He cried out softly, murmuring strange words. Elrond stepped closer, leaning forward slightly, hoping to learn something about this strange man and who he was, and he caught the words "brother" and "I'm sorry." The rest was either incomprehensible muttering or spoken in a different tongue. Elrond leaned back, staring at the dark-haired man. On top of everything else he had to worry about, now he also had to figure this new mystery out. By the Valar, he didn't even know if the man was friend or foe, or if he was even a man at all.

"Who are you?" Elrond muttered, not that he expected the man to answer. So he was shocked when the man's eyes cracked open and he found himself staring into brilliant green irises.

"My name," the man croaked, his voice still raw. "Is Loki."

With that, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped further onto the pillows.

Elrond stared in astonishment, bewildered that the man had answered him, and more confused than he would like to admit.

Loki. The man's name was Loki.

oOoOoOo

There were voices coming from the room at the end of the hall. One was deep and gruff; the other was light and boyish. It would appear that one of the patients had woken up, and Elrond was a little irked that he had not been notified. He began to make his way down the elegant corridor, pausing only to check on the still-unconscious stranger. There was a lull in the conversation, and Elrond was mere steps away from the door when the higher voice said, "Gandalf. What is it?" After another small pause, the gruff voice ominously replied, "Nothing, Frodo…"

"Frodo! Frodo! Bless you, you're awake!" Elrond heard the pitter patter of hobbit feet hitting the floor as a third voice joined the conversation. Standing in the doorway, he was able to see the hobbit rush over to Frodo's side, grabbing his arm.

The old wizard sitting to the right of Frodo chuckled. "Sam has hardly left your side." The dark-haired hobbit shot a grateful look at Sam, who said in earnest, "We were worried about you—weren't we, Mr. Gandalf?"

Elrond took that as his cue to enter. He locked eyes with Gandalf, who beamed at the sight of his old friend. "By the skills of Lord Elrond, you're beginning to mend." Stepping up to the side of Frodo's bed, Elrond looked down at the small hobbit, who had come to him bearing such a great wound. He was pleased to see that there was some color back in his pale cheeks, and his blue eyes were bright and clear, as they should be, though he was struck by the similarities between the hobbit before him and the man lying in the adjacent room. Shaking off this thought, Elrond smiled.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins."

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**A/N: This idea has been in my head for a while now, and I finally got the guts to write it out. **

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or the LOTR**

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Faces flew by him in a whirlwind of color and sound; one minute he was talking with his mother, the next minute he was trailing after Thor and his friends, and the next he was standing before Odin, who was gazing at him through his one eye with a disappointed air in his bearing. "Why, Loki?" Odin's baritone voice resounded through the empty hall. "Why couldn't you be more like your brother?"

"I tried, Father!" Loki cried, as the scene shifted yet again. "I tried," he whispered to the air.

"Tried what, brother?" And then there was Thor in all his glory, Mjolnir in his hand, looking down at Loki with a bemused expression. "Don't tell me that you actually thought you could escape my shadow?" Thor smirked, an expression that appeared odd on his innocent features. "I _am_ the golden child, after all. And what are you," Thor continued, sauntering over to where Loki stood rooted to the ground. "But the forgotten prince?"

Loki felt tears prick his eyes as hot waves of anger poured over him. "I hate you." The whisper tremored with a barely concealed rage. "I HATE YOU!" Loki screamed, pouring all of his wrath into a piercing yell. "I only ever wanted to be your equal, _brother_!" Tears flowed freely down his cheeks now. "I AM NOT YOUR BROTHER! I HATE YOU!" Loki shrieked again. "I hate you…"

His vision blurred as Thor disappeared, being replaced by a barren landscape. For a moment, Loki was confused; he had never seen this place before. But then the whispers started, and Loki forgot all about what he had and had not seen.

"_Trickster…Silvertongue…Liesmith…Forgotten prince…Monster…_" Loki clutched his head and fell to his knees, the words whirling throughout his mind, and he could not escape them.

"_Unwanted…abandoned…left to die…a stolen relic…_"

"Stop," Loki sobbed, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes, shaking his head. "Stop it. No more."

"_Oh, it wants us to stop, does it? It doesn't want to play? Such a pity…it is far weaker than we thought. The Jotun runt breaks so easily, doesn't it?_"

"What do you want with me?" Loki shrieked through his tears.

"_What do we want…we want to hear it squeal. We want to break it into a million little pieces, we do. We want the Trickster to be ours, broken at our feet. But first…we want it to say its name…"_

"My name?" Loki asked, looking up as his hands fell into his lap.

"_Yes…its name...for that is all it will have left, soon…_"

More tears fell onto his hands. "My name…is Loki."

"_Good…_"

Colors flashed by again and Loki didn't pay them any attention, until he heard a deep, unfamiliar voice. "I still don't understand why the boy was brought to Middle-earth. It wasn't part of the song—"

"Manwë, perhaps this _is_ a part of the song," a feminine voice said, soothing the man. "A part that Illúvatar chose not to share with us."

"Vairë may have a point, Manwë." Loki raised his head, furiously wiping his eyes, and saw fourteen regal beings standing in a circle around him. One of the lords was speaking to what appeared to be their king, a mighty lord with a majestic golden eagle perched on his shoulder. "What say you, Nienna, sister to the Fëanturi?"

The lords and ladies turned to a woman with grief etched in her face and faded tear tracks shining upon her fair cheeks. "The Asgardian carries heavy burdens and he is loath to let go of his painful past. I would turn his sorrow into wisdom. It is not an accident that he found himself in our domain."

"Very well." Manwë, the first of all kings, swept his piercing gaze around the circle. "We will let the boy do what he came here to do. Ulmo." Another lord, with robes that shimmered with all the colors of the sea, nodded in acknowledgement as Manwë turned his attention to him. "Keep an eye on him."

Ulmo nodded again as the image faded to black and Loki was left stranded in the darkness. The whispers began to start up again, escalating into a cacophony of indistinguishable voices.

"No," Loki whispered, his voice cracking, struggling to sort out his muddled thoughts. "No, no, no, no…" He felt himself slipping—

"Loki, can you hear me?" That voice. It was unfamiliar, yet Loki clung to it like a lifeline. "Loki, wake up."

He groaned, opening his eyes and blinking rapidly as he tried to orient himself. Putting a hand to his forehead, Loki shifted his stiff muscles in order to prop himself up in the bed. Wait…_bed_?Before he was able to fully process this, a shadow fell across him and Loki snapped his head up to see a tall man standing there. _Elf_, Loki silently corrected himself, catching sight of pointed ears. Maybe he was on Alfheim. Clearing his throat, Loki flicked his eyes around to begin to make sense of his surroundings. "Do I know you?"

The elf shook his head slightly, delicate brow furrowed. "No, Loki. I do not believe we have met before." Loki nodded absentmindedly, turning his bewildered gaze to the rest of the room. It was a healing room, that much was certain, with plenty of natural light spilling in through arched windows. Loki looked back at the elf, who was still staring at Loki, as if he were an enigma that must be solved. "I'm sorry," Loki began, trying to quell his racing thoughts and get some solid answers. "I don't believe I know your name—yet you seem rather familiar with my own."

"Ah, forgive me," the elf said, bowing his head. "I am Elrond, lord of this valley. You are currently in Rivendell, called Imladris by some." Elrond continued to look at Loki, as if checking for a reaction to his words. Loki, however, was careful to keep his raging emotions hidden behind a smooth façade, and Elrond nodded, proceeding to pace the length of the room.

Loki was thankful that Elrond was no longer staring at him. He looked at the polished floor, racking his mind, trying to make some sort of sense out of this situation—but he had never heard of a place called Rivendell, or Imladris, before. And then there was the puzzle of how he had gotten here in the first place. The last thing he remembered—

No, Loki thought firmly. That way led only to pain and heartache. However, his mind didn't seem to agree with him, and he had the sudden sensation of falling, falling endlessly, hurtling through a place that would never see the light—

"Loki?" He looked up to see Elrond looking at him with concern. Loki realized that Elrond had been trying to get his attention for the past minute. He struggled to control his breathing and heartrate, opting for nonchalance. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Loki could easily tell that he hadn't fooled the elf, but Elrond let it go—for the moment, at least. "I was asking you if you would like to tell me what race you are. You're not a dwarf—" _there are dwarves here?_ "—or a hobbit—" _a what?_ "—and you do not seem to be an elf. And yet, your aura suggests that you are not man, either." Elrond met Loki's gaze, and Loki saw the elf's many years etched into his face, even though he appeared timeless on the surface. "So, Loki." Elrond leaned closer. "Can you tell me where you come from?"

Now Loki was confused. Okay, so he was confused before, but now he was completely and utterly lost. He knew of no place in the nine realms that housed dwarves, elves, and humans, along with whatever the heck a hobbit was—

Loki paled. No. No no no no no. It wasn't possible—was it?

He met Elrond's expectant gaze, a sense of foreboding permeating his senses. "Elrond," he began, and then paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Which realm is this?"

Now it was Elrond's turn to look confused. "Realm?"

Loki swallowed hard. "What do they call this world?"

His face cleared, although there was a questioning look in his eye. "The world we call Arda, although the land we live on is known as Middle-earth."

"Middle-earth…" Loki felt terror grip his heart, and he desperately tried to reach out for the branches of Yggdrasil, hoping against hope that he wasn't right—and he was met with nothing. Wherever he was, it was not connected to the world tree, and that was, to him, the greatest cause for concern. "So you have never heard of Asgard…Midgard…Alfheim…?"

Elrond shook his head after hearing each of those realms. "No, I am not familiar with them." He tilted his head. "Loki, what is it?"

Rubbing his temples, Loki squeezed his eyes shut, unsure if he liked this reality more than his previous dreams. At least the dreams had made sense in a weird sort of way. "It's kind of a long story."

Elrond looked out the window to view the position of the setting sun. "We are holding council this evening. You can tell us then."

With that, Elrond swept out of the room, leaving behind a rather disconcerted Loki.

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**Please review! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I still don't own LOTR or Marvel**

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**A/N: *looks at update gap**—**crawls away to wallow in shame* I hope that there are some people out there who were not deterred by my abominable update gap... Anyways, I would like to send a quick shout out to everyone who has read, followed, favorited, and/or reviewed this story, especially Jess Marylin, guest, Miriam1, JazzChan, sweetylover123, and 4thSmalley.**

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His feet padded soundlessly on the polished floor as he wandered the elven hall. Its size impressed him; it certainly rivaled Asgard's enormity. Whereas Asgard was comprised of gleaming metals and imposing buildings, Rivendell had an ethereal quality that Loki found appealing. The Last Homely House was one with nature, the architects drawing upon natural beauty and patterns to coax delicate designs from the woodwork. There was a quiet here; but it was not an intimidating quiet, where one feels that something must be done to break that silence; nor was it such a complete silence that you were driven mad by it. It was a quiet that allowed for a moment of peace—of thinking. And that was exactly what Loki was doing as he strolled aimlessly past the intricate arches and breathtaking views: thinking.

The light streaming through the windows was the color of amber, and it made everything it touched look as if it were made of gold. The council Elrond had mentioned would be starting soon, Loki reckoned, running a hand through his hair while struggling not to wince with every step (he suspected that he wasn't supposed to have left the bed yet...but he's Loki, and he does what he wants), but he needed the time to think things through first.

And there were a lot of things to think about. There always were. Loki couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been thinking ahead, planning his next scheme or trick, watching entire battles play out in front of him months before war had even been declared. He was a strategist-_the_ strategist; he liked holding all the cards.

But now—he had lost control of the game. This…Middle-earth, it was an unknown. It wasn't part of his plan.

Loki had always been a planner, a schemer. A thinker. And it frustrated him to no end that he could make no (feasible) plan in this place, because, by the Norns, he had no idea what or where in the nine realms this place _was_.

He pressed a hand—that, he told himself, was absolutely _not_ shaking—to his forehead, stopping in his tracks and leaning his back against the sturdy wall. Nothing made any sense any more. _He_ wasn't even supposed to _be_ here anymore. And he wasn't sure yet if he should be thanking fate that it had spared him, or cursing what was surely a giant cosmic joke that he was still breathing. Shaking his head, Loki breathed out heavily through his nose, looking everywhere without seeing anything.

Maybe…maybe he was broken. Defected. Nothing more than a failed experiment that the Norns had long ago given up on. Maybe that was why he could never do anything right; maybe this was his punishment for being such a disappointment.

_Stop it_, Loki hissed to himself. It had truly scared him—the darkness. The madness of an impenetrable void. He had been lost to it once, had almost gone mad, both in his desire to be free and his steadily declining grip on reality, and now here he was, beyond all his crazed imaginings—and he was free.

Free. Loki gasped in utter shock at this realization. Was he really—free? Free from Asgard, from Thor, from the thrice-cursed eye of Odin?

He looked down at his hands and growled, banging his fist against the wall he leaned upon. He was only fooling himself. He could never be free of the monster that lived in his veins. Nothing could change who—what—he was.

Pushing himself roughly from the wall, he continued down the hallway, fuming silently, until he sensed movement up ahead. It was a man, and, cloaking himself with a quick flick of his wrist and a whispered word, Loki recognized this as the perfect opportunity to get to know this strange world's people—without them sending distrustful glares his way. After a brief but decisive war with himself, Loki found himself gliding down the corridor, ghosting behind the man he had briefly glimpsed.

The man in question was tall, with an arrogance in his gait that reminded Loki forcibly of his broth—_Thor_. He found himself not the least bit surprised to see a massive sword strapped around his waist. _Perfect_, Loki thought bitterly, forcing himself not to roll his eyes_. I've crash-landed on another Asgard_.

The man slowed his steps, as if catching sight of something, and turned a corner. Loki caught up with him, to see what it was that had so enamored this human. What he saw left him slightly awed.

Painted over the entire wall was a mural depicting an epic battle scene, with a man battling a foe twice as large as him, wielding nothing but a broken blade. Loki's eyes roamed over the image, not missing any details, impressed with the shear scope of the piece, while at the same time marveling at the stupidity of the man for going up against such a mighty foe with only a hilt and less than half the blade.

He turned his gaze to the rest of the space and started when he saw a man sitting, like a phantom, on a stone bench, carefully watching the man Loki had been following, a book lying forgotten in his hands. A lock of brown hair had fallen into the man's face, but he paid it no heed as he continued to gaze at the other man.

Feeling the eyes upon him, the other man tensed and turned suddenly. When he caught sight of the bedraggled man sitting there watching him, he relaxed, then titled his head and furrowed his brow. "You are no elf."

_Definitely Thor_, Loki thought, and this time he did roll his eyes. Some people were just _so good_ at stating the obvious.

The man with the book raised his head slightly in an unworded challenge. "Men of the South are welcome here." Though Loki didn't know what this meant, it obviously meant something to the standing man, who nodded slowly. "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of Gandalf the Grey." The man nodded again. "Then we are here on a common purpose…friend." Loki scoffed silently. Honestly, these people were fools to label one another as _friends _after merely exchanging two sentences with one other.

It appeared this sentiment was shared by the man on the bench, who just stared back, watching the man with the broadsword's growing discomfort. He shifted his weight back and forth before noticing a statue of a woman, holding an elegant shield with broken pieces of a sword resting on it, glinting in the dying light.

"The shards of Narsil," the man breathed, walking reverently up to the pedestal. He hesitated a moment before reaching out a hand to grip the silver hilt. With a small flourish, that served to demonstrate his desire for theatrics more than his skill with a blade, he brought it closer to inspect it, the look of quiet awe never leaving his face. "The blade that cut the Ring from Sauron's hand."

Loki looked again at the mural on the wall. This time he paid closer attention to the sword in the warrior's hand, which bore a striking semblance to the one the man was now holding.

A gasp of pain drew Loki's gaze back to the scene before him. A drop of blood had welled up on the man's finger, and Loki realized that he had tried to run his finger along it the blade. _Idiot_, Loki scoffed silently.

The man looks in wonder at the broken piece. "It's still sharp." Loki resisted the temptation to make a scathing comment about the man's intelligence.

He was mildly surprised, though, to find that the man with the book still hadn't stopped staring at the other man. Looking away from the sword, Thor's clone noticed this too,and something passed between the two of them that caused the strong man to look smaller, and he hurriedly said, "But no more than a broken heirloom." He drops the sword like it burned his hand and it clattered to the ground. Pausing for only a moment, he left it there, retreating as fast as he could without outrightly running.

Setting the book down, the man pushed himself up and made for the pedestal. With the pads of his fingers, he gently lifted the hilt from where it lay on the ground. Handling it as if it were a precious child and not a deadly weapon, he set it back in its place on the woman's shield. Stepping back, he tilted his head to gaze up at the woman's face.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Loki disabled the cloaking spell and stepped forward. "Who is she?"

To his credit, the man didn't even flinch at the abrupt question, and Loki's opinion of him went up slightly. "She has no name. But she has in her keeping a broken heirloom of a time better left forgotten." He turned slowly, facing Loki, and Loki was startled by the intensity of his gaze. If he hadn't spent his entire existence surrounded by powerful beings, he would have been unnerved by the brown eyes that stared into his green. He regarded Loki, then remarked, "I do not think I have seen you before. Tell me, what is your name?"

Thankful and slightly confused that the man had decided not to comment on his appearance, Loki briefly considered giving an alibi, but decided that that would be simply foolish, as he had already given his name to the elf Elrond, so he merely stated, "They call me Loki."

The man nodded in acknowledgment. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn." He glanced casually around the corridor. "What brings you to Rivendell?"

Before Loki could begin to decide how to answer that question—"_I fell out of the sky_" just didn't seem to cut it—soft footsteps echoed through the hall, followed by a beautiful elf-maiden with dark hair that reached to the small of her back. It reminded him of Sif's, but while Sif was all edges and a warrior in every way, the elf was graceful and reminded him of a deceptively still body of water. She moved toward Aragorn, but her startling blue eyes never left Loki.

He prepared for some scathing remark about his presence, or at the very least an indifferent dismissal, but he wasn't in any way prepared for the brilliant smile she threw at him. He blinked, hard—but no, she was really smiling. At _him_. And if that wasn't perplexing enough, he thought he detected some relief in her eyes. He blinked again. Surely he was still dreaming…but the elf's next words did away with any doubts he had. "Oh! I'm so relieved you're up. After I found you in the forest I was worried that you wouldn't make it, but…well, here you are!" She wasn't smiling anymore, but Loki could see traces of it in her eyes.

Loki looked at Aragorn, bewildered, and saw that Aragorn looked the way he felt. "Arwen…do you know Loki?"

She finally looked at Aragorn. "Oh…yes. I was the one who discovered him in the woods, amidst a small crater." The corners of her mouth twitched. "If I didn't know better, I would have said that he had fallen from the sky."

Loki mentally face-palmed. Well…so much for not going with the whole "I fell out of the sky" explanation. He sighed, wondering if he should have just remained in the shadows, seeing the unasked questions in both their eyes.

"I was actually just about to attend Lord Elrond's council. I am sure that if you are attending, then my presence here will be explained." He really didn't want to have to explain it more than once; for one thing, it made for a long tale, and another: he just didn't want to have to relive that just yet.

Thankfully, Aragorn didn't press him, though the questions didn't completely disappear from his eyes, and he merely said, "I was just about to go myself." He turned to Arwen, who gazed at Aragorn with so much love in her eyes that Loki would have had to be _blind_ to miss it. His fingers stroked her cheek and she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. She stood on her tip-toes and whispered something into Aragorn's ear. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed just as quickly. He nodded, then leaned down and gave Arwen a chaste kiss. Pulling away, he walked up to Loki and inclined his head, as if to say, "Are you coming?"

Following into step slightly behind Aragorn, Loki reflected that his life had really not changed that much since his fall. Here he was, following another Thor, trapped in a world where brute force was king and magic was frowned upon—if the mural was anything to be base his judgments on.

But this was also a world, Loki realized, where his name meant _nothing_. No one knew that he was the unwanted second son, the brother that was always, _always_, outshone by the first.

If he really wanted, he could make for himself a whole new identity. _He_ could be the hero for once; the one praised in the songs and tales told at feasts. The one everyone looked to for answers, for guidance, for wisdom.

But even as he thought this, Loki, the trickster prince that he was, also realized that this was a world that had no idea that he was an entity to be feared. That he could lie, cheat, and bend the rules until they reached their breaking point without anyone the wiser.

A wicked smirk danced across Loki's lips. Oh, yes.

This would be fun.

He looked forward to the council.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey...so, uh, yeah. I'm not dead. I'm amazed if anyone is still reading this, but thank you. Especially if you were one of the people who reviewed this story and finally motivated me to get my butt into gear. So...thanks. **

**As a side note, I do switch perspectives at some points during this chapter, just so you're not thrown off by it. It's something I'll probably do more of as the story progresses. **

**There's also a lot of dialogue taken directly from the movie. I still, unfortunately, do not own LOTR or the Avengers. **

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The turning leaves fell soundlessly from the elegant trees, drifting feather-like to the stone floor. A light carpet of them had already formed in the open-air pavilion, adding to the ethereal beauty of the place. It was like no council-chamber that Loki had ever seen; and—although it pained him to admit—if Aragorn hadn't been leading, it could have been hours before he found the location of the gathering.

As he passed the white-washed columns that stood sentry around the pavilion, Loki felt a subtle tug at his core, indicating the presence of a magical barrier. Well, Loki smirked, it seemed as if this world's inhabitants were not all imbeciles.

Aragorn turned his head so he was speaking to Loki, his dark hair falling into his face. "Your seat is the one next to the man with the shield," Aragorn murmured, leaning closer. He looked him in the eye to make sure he understood, and when Loki gave him a short nod he seated himself on the edge of the half-circle of chairs that lined the pavilion.

Loki cast his gaze for the man Aragorn had described—and sighed through his nose when he realized that it was the same daft idiot he had followed earlier. Nevertheless, he strode purposefully over to the empty seat on the man's left side.

After he eased himself into the delicate-looking chair, Loki spared a glance around the half-circle at the people of various races that occupied the remaining chairs. He was vaguely surprised to see so many different types of people sitting—_civilly_—in the same room. It reminded him of the rare moments when representatives from all the nine realms were called on by the All-father; when a decision would affect not only Asgard, but all of Yggdrasil.

Most of the races he recognized; there was, however, a small, insignificant looking creature sitting opposite Aragorn, next to an old man in grey robes. Perhaps this was a hobbit, then. He almost didn't see him at first, so diminutive was his stature, and Loki couldn't help but wonder why Elrond had invited him to take part in this council. Surely something about him must be more than what meets the eye, some hidden power or strength that could not be gleaned from mere appearances.

Loki was pulled from his musings when Elrond stood to address those gathered. In a clear and carrying voice, he began by saying, "Strangers from distant lands. Friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." Loki furrowed his brow slightly, confused by the unfamiliar name. "Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction—none can escape it. You will unite," Elrond glanced fleetingly at Aragorn, "or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate; this one doom."

Absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the side of the chair, Loki silently willed Elrond to cut to the chase and simply tell them what the problem was. Bad enough that he was already behind the other council-members in regards to Middle-earth knowledge; now he had to deal with pointy-eared elves spewing cryptic messages of doom.

For a brief moment, Elrond stood there, stern-faced; then he lowered his head, steeling himself—as if he wished for all the world that he did not have to be the one to speak—before drawing himself up and gesturing towards the small creature on the outskirts of the half-circle. In a low, commanding voice, he dictated, "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

oOoOoOo

At the mention of the Ring, Aragorn tore his gaze from the man called Loki and sat straighter in his chair. He had already known about the Ring, so it wasn't much of a surprise to him, but he still felt a flicker of what might be called fear as Frodo slowly made his way towards the stone pedestal in the center of the pavilion.

_Isildur's bane…_but no—he had sworn that he wouldn't make the same mistakes as his predecessor. Isildur's bane would not be his. And yet—

There it sat, in the hobbit's hand; a perfect circle of smooth, pure gold. Aragorn didn't miss the conflicting emotions raging on Frodo's face: a deep longing for the Ring, and at the same time revulsion for the thing that has caused so much pain and suffering already. He felt a stab of pity for Frodo; he hadn't asked for this. He hadn't asked to carry the fate of Middle-earth on his small shoulders.

Frodo set the Ring in the center of the carved pedestal. Silence settled over the council; all eyes were on the innocent-looking object. They knew better, though, than to think of the Ring as innocent. Many appeared to have been turned to living stone, hardly breathing; others leaned forward in their seats, openly staring at the famed Ring of Power. Boromir, the son of the Steward, fell into the latter category; Aragorn noticed a subtle change come over him as he gazed at the Ring. "So it is true…" he whispered to himself, absentmindedly running his fingers over his lips in thought.

Legolas, who was seated with the other elves from Mirkwood, overheard his comment; he continued by saying, in disbelief, "Sauron's Ring—the Ring of Power."

The man, Loki, looked at the blonde elf, before turning back to the Ring still sitting on the stone, a thoughtful expression on his face, brow furrowed slightly.

Gruffly, one of the dwarves harked back to the grim words of Elrond: "The doom of man." At these words, Boromir stared at the dwarf—_Gimli_, Aragorn thought—as if he had just uttered a grave mistruth. "Nay," Boromir said, eyes wide. "It is a gift…a gift to the foes of Mordor!" Aragorn couldn't help but gape at the foolish notion that the Ring—Isildur's bane—could possibly be considered a _gift_. But Boromir wasn't done: "Why not use this Ring?" Here he got up and began pacing in front of the council, a breathless note in his voice. "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, held the forces of Mordor at bay—by the blood of _our people_ are _your_ lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy—let us use it against him!"

At this point, Aragorn was barely able to restrain himself from throttling the son of the Steward, but he managed to keep up an outward façade of calm. He took a breath, steeling himself, and opened his mouth to counter Boromir, when Loki began to laugh.

oOoOoOo

In his defense, Loki had tried to just sit silently and gather information. He really had. But there was only so much pigheaded-ness a silver-tongued Liesmith could take before wanting to put an arrow through his skull.

"I am sorry," Loki choked out, waving a hand dismissively.

"Loki," Elrond warned, "this is not a matter to be taken lightly."

Loki ceased his laughing, respectfully inclining his head. "Believe me, Lord Elrond—I understand that more than most. This man," he gestured to the one who had spoken. "Boromir," Elrond supplied.

"Boromir," Loki repeated, giving a smile that he knew would not reach his eyes. "He simply reminded me of another time, in another place, when another brash would-be king tore apart a realm, created discord within a kingdom, and was blinded by his own ignorance and idiocy."

A stunned silence fell over the council. Boromir slowly rose from his seat, shaking ever so slightly from barely contained rage. "How dare you," he spat. "Who are you to besmear the House of the Stewards of Gondor? Who are you to—"

"I am Loki." Loki stood up himself, though with far more grace than Boromir had. "Son of none. I have been called many other things: Lie-Smith. Silver-Tongue. Sly One. Shape-Changer. Sky Walker." Loki decided to risk a small show of power, and crafted a few glittering illusions to illustrate and emphasize his next words. "I am God of Fire and Mischief, Herald of Ragnarok, Sire of Monsters. I have travelled between worlds and fallen through the Void. That, Boromir," he said, looking directly at the man. "That is who I am."

His declaration was met with mixed reactions. He got a thrill from seeing the conflicting emotions—confusion, wonder, fear, distrust—flit across the faces of the council-members. "I am also," he continued, "a scholar of magic." He turned to face the Ring, still sitting on the pedestal, not forgotten. "There is a darkness woven within the very fabric of the metal—this is not something that you can use. In attempting to control it, it would inevitably end up controlling you. Any of you," he added sharply.

"The One Ring answers to Sauron alone," Aragorn affirmed, and Loki looked towards him with mild surprise, impressed with his reasonable response. "It has no other master."

Of course, that raised a few more questions in Loki's mind, but as he opened his mouth to ask them the oaf Boromir started speaking. "And what would a ranger know of this matter?"

_More than you_, Loki thought, but he bit his tongue and said nothing. He was intrigued to hear Aragorn's response, for he was sure that Aragorn was more than a mere ranger.

oOoOoOo

It pained Legolas to see Aragorn dismissed out of hand by Boromir. He was forcibly reminded of how shallow man's perception can be. _All that is gold does not glitter_.

When Aragorn did not try to defend himself—as Legolas suspected he would not—Legolas pushed out of his chair to face the ignorant son of Denethor. "This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

At that last sentence, Boromir whirled around to face Legolas. His mouth was opened slightly, quiet disbelief etched into the fine lines on his face. "Aragorn?" Shaking his head, he glanced back at the seated man. "_This_ is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," Legolas asserted, privately pleased with how he had protected his old friend. His sharp eyes did not miss the slight raise of Loki's eyebrows at his statement, as the pale, raven-haired man—was he a man? Surely he was no god, although he does possess an unfamiliar form of magic—ambled back to his seat.

Legolas' attention was brought back to Aragorn, as he quietly commanded, "Havo dad, Legolas." _Sit down, Legolas_.

So Legolas sat, with all the grace and dignity of an elven prince. He cannot understand why Aragorn refuses to accept who he is. It is clear to his eyes, although they do not possess the secrets of hidden futures, that Aragorn was born to lead. The kingdom of men need someone like Aragorn to bring them into a new age; for with Aragorn, there is hope for men yet.

It does not help, of course, that there are some like Boromir who will not acknowledge him. "Gondor needs no king," Boromir blusters, sitting back down with a sense of finality.

"Aragorn and Loki are right—we cannot use it," voiced Mithrandir, who had been unusually quiet until now, effectively bringing them back to the matter at hand—the Ring.

Legolas may not be a scholar of magic like Loki proclaimed to be, but he could sense that there was something unnatural dwelling within it. But if they could not use it, then…

"You only have one choice," Elrond declared to the council. His worldly gaze swept across the members, captivating them as he delivered the sentence. "The Ring must be destroyed."


	5. Chapter 5

**The Council of Elrond Part 2. Once again, a lot of dialogue taken from the movie. That should start to stop after this chapter, but I needed this part to stay roughly the same...**

**Thank you soooo much to anyone who reviewed last chapter! They make me smile and inspire me to keep writing. I hope I can keep doing this story justice.**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own LOTR or the Avengers... **

* * *

As annoyed as Loki was with himself for giving into his earlier irritation—although Boromir _had_ deserved it—it hadn't appeared to have affected him as of yet, for which he was both grateful and aggravated. Although, despite a few lingering glances, they didn't press for more information—which would have inevitably led to the tale of the bridge and the fall and the void and the darkness and the _no no no stop_—he couldn't help but feel slightly insulted that they didn't even grace him with a sign that they were the _least_ bit interested as to why there was a _god_ sitting amongst them.

But he did learn that Aragorn was apparently some sort of heir (although that was apparently a much contested point), the blond-haired elf was named Legolas, and the evil Ring had to somehow be destroyed.

Yippee.

A faint humming noise reached Loki's ears. He casually glanced around to see if anyone else seemed to notice it, and he saw that the hobbit—at least he was going to assume he was a hobbit—had tensed, and was staring at the Ring with wide eyes.

Before he could send out a tendril of magic and investigate, one of the dwarves stood up abruptly, his gaze flitting between council-members. "Then," the dwarf said, and Loki saw now that his wired appearance stemmed from excitement, "what are we waiting for?"

Loki had several reasons, actually, but before he could voice any of them the fool-hardy dwarf—Loki had never really liked dwarves—sprinted forward and brought his axe down on the Ring where it lay.

A deafening crack echoed through the gathering space, and Loki threw up a small shield charm to deflect a substantial piece of the broken axe blade. _I could have told you that that would have been a bad idea, but no, you just _had_ to try and hit it with something._

Even through his silent berating, Loki observed the hobbit flinch as though struck, and the wizened man beside him looked at him with concern.

But then Elrond was speaking again, so he filed the scene away for later contemplation. "The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess." By the Norns, he wishes that Elrond would just get to the point. It's obvious that he knows exactly what to do to have the Ring destro—"The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom—only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor, and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this."

Of course—it's a quest. Almost felt like he was back in Asgard. Only…hold on…no one was bouncing to their feet to claim the great honor as their own, to be escorted out with fanfare and trumpets, to return triumphantly to glorious feasts held in their name. It was silent, and only grave faces met the words of Elrond. That…that was different.

It did not surprise him that Boromir was the one to break the heavy silence; what did surprise him—and he is not easily surprised—is that he addressed the council with a quiet voice and reasonable words. "One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs." _There are Orcs now too?_ "There is evil there that does not sleep, and the Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust…the very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

Yes. But—"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" Legolas countered. "The Ring must be destroyed."

The overeager dwarf shot back, "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?"

Then back to Boromir, whose voice got louder and more impassioned as he spoke. "And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

Gimli leapt to his feet, and Loki watched as he all but yelled, "I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an _Elf_!"

Chaos broke out. A storm of argument erupted and Loki couldn't resist feeling a touch…disappointed. This wasn't Asgard, and it was like a breath of fresh air to hear some logical arguments that weren't his own; yet fear of the Ring and the perilous journey still made them devolve into this squabbling mass. Part of him wanted to intervene, but he reminded himself that this wasn't his fight—this wasn't even his _world_. And…perhaps another part of him wanted to see if the chaos could be naturally…calmed. Reigned in. If the shouting voices could be condensed once more to a voice of reason. If the brokenness could find within itself the power to be made whole…

The cacophony of voices became strangely muted. Alert, Loki realized that his gaze had been drawn back to the Ring, still sitting with innocent maliciousness on the pedestal. The strange humming started again, intensified. Staring at the Ring, Loki saw frost start to creep across his vision, which was tainted with a painfully familiar red hue. His magic felt barely contained, a tempest inside him. A voice began chanting in a tongue he could not understand, while another whispered in his head. _Take me…Become the king you were born to be…Power beyond anything you have known …Universes will be at your command…Take me…Use me…Take…Take…_

With a strangled gasp, Loki wrenched himself back to the present. He let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding and relaxed his hand that had clenched around the chair. He reassured himself that no, he had not reverted to his Jotunn form and was still, blessedly, Aesir.

So disoriented was he that it took him an embarrassing number of seconds to realize that the accusatory shouting had ceased. And it took a few seconds more for it to sink in that the reason for the sudden silence was the tiny hobbit standing in front of the council, saying, "I will take it…I will take the Ring to Mordor."

Forcing himself to put the harrowing vision aside for now, Loki concentrated on the rapidly unfolding events. Under the astounded gazes of the council, the hobbit's confident demeanor seemed to crumble slightly, and he continued, much quieter, "Though…I do not know the way."

Surely this was a joke? Still shaken, Loki glanced around, fully expecting someone, perhaps Elrond or the grey-robed elder, to start laughing at this hobbit's statement. Surely…surely someone so small, so weak and fragile, could not be expected to bear the weight of this quest? Loki had been sure than Aragorn, or even—although it pained him to think—Boromir, would have been given this great responsibility.

He was sure that the grey-robed elder, who had moved to stand by the hobbit's side, would inform him that although his courage was noted, this grave matter would be handled by a far greater and more powerful man. So Loki could hardly believe his ears when he merely said, "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear."

Loki was still processing this convoluted twist when Aragorn—a future _king_—knelt in deference before Frodo. "If, by my life or death, I can protect you, I will." He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. "You have my sword."

Movement from within the council drew Loki's eye as the blonde elf—_Legolas_ —stepped forward. "And you have my bow."

With a sideways look at the elf, Gimli came forth as well. "And my axe."

Boromir looked around the council before walking towards Frodo. _Great_. He gave Frodo a contemplative glance before commenting, "You carry the fate of us all, little one."

As much as Loki hated to admit, Boromir had actually made an intelligent remark. Point to him.

Boromir continued, saying, "If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done."

Loki realized that he had unconsciously stood up halfway out of his seat, and that gave him pause. Did he intend to join this…fellowship of sorts? Offer his magic and knowledge to aid in this quest? He felt no allegiance to any of them, save perhaps Aragorn, but even then only a passing respect. All to destroy the Ring…the Ring…

"Here," a new voice cried, and Loki startled to see another hobbit appear from behind a bush, where he had evidently been eavesdropping the entire time, unknowingly inside of the magical barrier. Loki suppressed a grin as he eased himself back into his chair. He concluded that he didn't have to join the fellowship in order to tag along, if that is indeed what he chose to do. He liked having options.

The newcomer ran up behind the fellowship and pushed his way through to stand beside Frodo. Judging from Frodo's smile, the two were dear friends. He crossed his arms, proclaiming, "Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me."

"No, indeed," Elrond drawled, and Loki couldn't help but admire the fat hobbit's boldness. "It is hardly possible to separate you—even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not."

While the fat hobbit blushed, two more hobbits—seriously, one would think that Elrond would have a more effective way to stop people from listening—came rushing in. "Oi!," the taller—taller being a relative term—called. "We're coming too!" The two of them stopped by Frodo's other side, and he gave them a fond, if surprised, smile. "You'll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us."

"Anyway," the shorter one continued, "you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission…quest…thing." Loki mentally face palmed as he realized who the two new hobbits reminded him of—Fandral and Volstagg.

The taller one leaned over and said in a carrying whisper, "Well, that rules you out, Pip."

It seems like Elrond decided to gracefully ignore that last exchange as he surveyed the gathered group. Loki had to admit that they did strike as quite impressive. There was a thoughtful note in Elrond's voice as he said, "Nine companions…so be it." He straightened, looking every inch an elven lord. "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

Out of habit, Loki privately overlaid a triumphant song during this moment, not unlike one found in the halls of Asgard, filled with bright horns and soaring melodies. The image was marred only slightly by the short hobbit's—Pip's?—offhand comment of, "Great. Where are we going?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Hel-lo. Thank you soooooo much to everyone who's read, followed, favorited, or reviewed so far! I cannot express how much you all mean to me. I'm sorry that updates on this story are few and far between, but hopefully you're still enjoying it! **

**I took some liberties with the timeline, but hey, this is my story and I can do what I want :)**

**Regrettably, I still do not own Marvel or the LOTR :(**

* * *

The night air was frigid, though Loki did not feel the cold. He used to attribute this immunity to his magical prowess; when he discovered what he really was, well—that was just another fantasy that was ripped from him.

The soft rush of the river drowned out most other nightly noises, providing a perfect substitute for thought. There was a spot back in Asgard much like this: the forest, the water, the solitude, the _peace_. It was Loki's sanctuary. A place that Thor and Odin and Sif had never found; a corner of Asgard that he claimed for himself. There were no rules to follow, no need to prove himself, no one yelling at him for something that he may or may not have done. Just a place where he could simply _be._

So he found himself sitting there, on the bank of a river, in a place that reminded him of his not-home, trying to make the voices cease. They were a constant presence in the back of his mind; he dared not sleep. In sleep, his defenses were lowest, and he feared that the dark presence would overwhelm him. It was a curse to be afraid of one's own mind.

_Is it madness? Is it?_ His words echoed across the vast rift in space. It would certainly be fitting if the God of Chaos succumbed to his own madness. The Norns were surely laughing. The voices were likely some twisted construct of his mind; but he couldn't shake the sense that something else was there, lurking in the darkest corners, waiting for the chance to strike.

Loki didn't like the implications of that thought, so he forced himself to turn to other matters. It turns out that there were few things he could think of without linking them to the…the void…and the emptiness…

The fellowship. The fellowship was safe to think about. With winter fast approaching, Elrond had decided that they were to set out the day after tomorrow at first light. If they waited out the winter, their quest could be too late to stop the forces of Sauron. So Loki had to prepare, if he was to follow the fellowship.

_What am I doing? I'm just going to follow this ragtag group and…what? What are you going to accomplish by following them?_ Loki reeled at the thought. He could…he was…

Nothing. That's what he was. He had already given everything he had to his hom—to Asgard. And he was tired. The Void—_yes the Void, with all its emptiness and suffocating silence, falling, endlessly falling, falling, falling_—the _Void_, had taken a toll.

The river flowed by his feet, refracting moonlight off its unsettled surface. He pulled his knees towards his chest, wrapping his thin arms around them. It was a kind of night that brought buried thoughts to the surface, a night that seemed to blanket the world and give voice to the unspeakable. Looking up at the stars, he whispered, "Heimdall…" Loki swallowed, repulsed by how weak he sounded. But he forced himself to continue. "Heimdall. I don't know if you can see me, and if you can you're probably laughing, but…if you are listening, could you tell Mother that I love her? And if…if there were a way – any way – for me to go back…tell her that I would come back, for her. Not for Odin, or Thor, or any of them…but I would come back for her." A quiet sob escape him, and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle the noise. He felt a patch of wetness, and realized that he was crying. Scoffing at his childishness, Loki wiped his face, cursing his own weakness.

The words of the Ring crept out of the dark recesses of his mind, spinning tales of unmatchable power and the conquest of worlds. Pretty words, and were Loki a lesser being or more susceptible to trickery he may have fallen for its illusion. But Loki was quick to separate lies from the truth, and he could sense that those fine words were but one side of the story. To take the Ring would grant him power, yes, but at what cost? To lose what's left of himself – however much that may be. To take the Ring would be to become a slave, and even after everything that's happened, Loki still valued his freedom.

Loki's inner turbulence was not reflected by the oblivious river. It danced over boulders and twirled stray leaves and twigs caught in its watery embrace. Loki envied it, and he realized that it spoke volumes about his current state that he was jealous of a river. But he longed for its ability to bend and flow around and over obstacles like they weren't even there. He used to pride himself for his flexibility, his quick wittedness, but now he feels like one of the leaves, spun this way and that on a current that he has no control over, waiting for the inevitable moment when he is dragged beneath the water's merciless surface.

A flash out of the corner of Loki's eye. He peered into the water where he thought he had seen, just for a moment…he could have sworn he saw—

The snap of a branch drew Loki's attention from the river. He whipped around towards the noise and found Aragorn climbing out of the brush, hands raised in a placating gesture, a sheepish look on his face.

"I'm sorry," he explained, keeping his voice soft. "It was not my intention to startle you."

"There's no need to apologize," Loki replied, tension draining out of him. "If I may ask, what brings you here in the middle of the night?"

The hint of a smirk played around the corners of Aragorn's mouth. "I could ask you the same thing."

"I do believe I asked first," Loki countered, intrigued despite himself to hear Aragorn's answer.

Any echo of a smile dropped from Aragorn's face as he sighed deeply, lowering his head. "I used to come here as a child when sleep eluded me, as it did tonight." He shifted his gaze to the river. "Thoughts of the quest are weighing heavy on me, I suppose."

"Then our reasons for being here are indeed similar," Loki said, and Aragorn turned to him with a question in his eyes. Loki offered up a weary smile. "Sleep is a fickle thing."

Aragorn acknowledged the statement with an incline of his head. Strolling to the water's edge, he gestured to a spot besides Loki in a silent request. Loki replied with a wave of his hand, and Aragorn gingerly lowered himself to the ground, rustling a few leaves in the process. They sat there, the two of them, at the water's edge, in a world on the brink of war.

A silence descended upon them; not strictly uncomfortable, but there was an underlying tension. Loki suspected that there was another reason for Aragorn to come to this particular place tonight, and it wasn't just because of a bit of insomnia. Instead of calling attention to it, Loki used a technique that rarely failed him: patience.

Loki wasn't just passively waiting, though; as the minutes dragged on, he took a chance to survey the man called Aragorn. Out here, illuminated by the soft moonlight, Aragorn looked younger than he did during the council, the lines worn into his face fading in the dim light. Yet Loki could not deny that there was something about him, some unseen quality, which gave him the air of a king. Loki determined that it was his eyes; they shone with a barely contained fire, alive in a way Loki himself had not felt in a long time.

A shift in Aragorn's breathing let Loki know that his waiting had run its course. Aragorn took a deep breath, almost a sigh, then tilted his head towards Loki. "There is a question I would ask you that has been burning me since we left the council chamber."

Straightening, Loki answered, "Ask away."

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if searching for the right words to say. Finally, he said, "What are you doing here? This is not your world, and I can't help but wonder why you would come to Middle-earth, of all places."

_I asked myself the same thing_, Loki thought wryly, _and I am no closer to an answer than you are_. He considered brushing off the question, but there was something about the combination of the stream and the earnest way Aragorn was looking at him, as if he actually _cared_ about the answer, that broke down a small part of his barriers. "Well, if it's any consolation, it was not by choice that I came here," Loki said, glancing briefly up at the sky. "It would appear that I am merely…stuck. For now."

Aragorn took the response in stride, nodding to himself, and he responded, "Although it may not be my place to ask this, I would." Pushing off from the ground, Aragorn stood, crowned by moonlight, and held out his calloused hand to where Loki remained seated. "Loki, son of none, would you join the Fellowship of the Ring in our quest to free Middle-earth."

Barely registering the proffered hand, Loki realizes distantly that this must be what it feels like to short-circuit. Everything else faded as one question overruled the rest of his thoughts: _Do I really have a choice?_ Seriously, what else was he planning on doing? This was by far the most interesting thing that he's encountered and he didn't feel like searching this strange world for something else to occupy his time. _And what better way to create mischief than to be in the thick of things?_

Looking up at Aragorn, he knew he was deluding himself if he thought that he _wasn't_ going to end up trailing behind the fellowship anyways, and by being an official member he would be creating a lot less work for himself. Contrary to what some may believe –_Thor _– Loki didn't relish making needlessly complicated plans. Sometimes they were necessary, but the most successful plans were generally the most efficient.

So when Loki stretched out his hand to grasp Aragorn's, he told himself that this was the logical path to take. It had nothing to do with being closer to that vile piece of jewelry.

With considerable strength, Aragorn pulled Loki up so that they were both standing. A small smile graced Aragorn's face, and it was slightly unnerving to see such a genuine expression directed at him. Reluctant to make that smile disappear, but needing an answer, Loki managed to choke out, "Why?"

Although he seemed to have momentarily lost the use of his famed silver-tongue, Aragorn managed to grasp the meaning behind what he was asking, and sure enough the smile vanished to be replaced by a contemplative frown. Loki berated himself for missing it. "Though I have only met you today, I like to think of myself as a decent judge of character, likely stemming from how often people seem to misjudge me." Loki smirked inwardly at the thought, silently agreeing. "I think that there is more to you than meets the eye, Loki, and I think I will be pleasantly surprised when you show your true colors. Also," Aragorn continued, breaking eye contact, for which Loki was grateful. He was starting to fidget with all this talk of true colors. "This quest is for all the free peoples of Middle-earth. As far as I'm concerned, that now includes you."

For a second time that night, Loki found himself at a loss for words. Why was it that people always expected great things of him? On Asgard, it was always Loki that they came to when something was screwed up – even if he was the one who did the screwing – expecting him to come up with some miraculous solution. And now here, in Middle-earth, things were already being expected of him that he wasn't sure he would be able to provide. He found himself disliking the idea that one day he would let Aragorn down; but he supposed he would face that day when it came. Respectfully inclining his head, Loki remarked, "Then graciously, I accept your offer."

The smile was back. "I'm glad," Aragorn said, tension seeping out of him. He glanced once more at the night sky, thoughts far away. "I think I shall go see if sleep will come to me now. Speaking with you seems to have lifted some of my burden."

To Loki's surprise, Aragorn reached out and firmly grasped his shoulder, squeezing once before withdrawing into the surrounding foliage. He marveled at the enigma of a man Aragorn was turning out to be, and he wondered if the rest of this world's inhabitants were at all like him, though he suspected not.

Arms folded, Loki turned back to the water. Gazing into its depths, he realized that the voices in his head had quieted during the conversation, for which he was grateful. He remembered the face of the man he thought he had seen in the river, for a mere half-second, and chalked it up to lack of sleep. Perhaps he should follow Aragorn's lead and seek that elusive realm. He'll be needing it, after all, now that he's agreed to become one of the fellowship. It'd been a while since Loki had gone on a proper quest.


End file.
